Creation of the Zombie
by quietboxed
Summary: Ever wondered how the zombie came to be? This is how. Note: the idea came from three youtubers (Antvenom, Cavemanfilms, and Skitscape) who saw a bunch of lightning during the survival games and wondered what would happen if you got hit by it. Lol, I just gave away my story.


Steve strolled through the open plain, bored. Well, the view was nice, with tall, grassy hills encasing the field protectively, but… Steve had lived with the view his entire life. The same, faintly thin clouds and cool blue sky; the same tall grass rubbing his knees as he passed through. Nice, but… nothing extraordinary. He approached a low, wooden building off to the side of the field. He pulled open the door, and as he stepped into the house a pressure plate closed it for him. He surveyed the room proudly.

Sure, the cozy one-room home wasn't exactly luxurious, but Steve had built it himself. The long hours collecting wood, transforming the logs into planks on his craft bench, stacking the planks with care. The top and edges of the building were made of logs, but all else were planks. One window, with potted roses on the sill. Enough so some sunlight could stream in at morning, but not enough so Steve could be pestered by the monsters that were sure to be studying his house at night.

The skeletons, with their deadly accurate aim… the suicidal creepers, who would do anything to take you out… the spiders, who could climb anything… the Endermen, with their slitted, calculating eyes.

Steve shivered. He was glad it was day.

He stepped outside to check the time. It was still mid-morning, so he probably had enough time to go hunting in the hills and arrive home before night fell. The weather looked good, too. So he headed for his chest. Pulling out an iron sword (he had a butter sword, too, but it was mostly for show) and a couple apples to munch on, Steve felt like a proper adventurer.

One itsy-bitsy thing he forgot. His armor.

Completely unaware of the fact, he strolled outside and made for the hills. Lots of pigs native to the area, maybe he could get some more porkchops today.

-Noon-

Steve had quite the number of raw porkchops by now. All he had to do was cook them and he'd be set. But… Steve glanced at the sky. It was only noon. Maybe he could go find a cow…

Cows were rare in the area. But Steve was expecting guests, and he wanted to make a cake. He'd run out of milk, though, and who ever heard of making a cake without milk?

Soon Steve was back outside, equipped with a bucket. He glanced nervously at the sky. Should he go? Time was a-wasting. Maybe…

But, oh well, screw it. Yeah sure, he would. He did, after, have his sword.

Steve had been walking for a long time when the bad weather hit. He'd gotten a few more porkchops, even some chicken, but no cow. He just spotted a vast taiga biome, though, brimming with the sounds of _moo_s, when it began to rain. Not just a sprinkle, serious, legit, honest-to-god rain.

Steve wished he'd remembered his helmet, but otherwise it was just an inconvenience. He started for the biome.

Thunder cackled. Steve clicked off his hearing aid.

No more thunder. Problem solved.

But soon lightning began to haunt the hills as well, and the taiga biome looked nowhere closer. Should he head back? But… it seemed just a leap away…

Against his better judgment, Steve decided to keep going. If it got dark, he could always dig a hole and hide for the night.

But he had bigger problems than night.

As he ran through the fields, a lightning streak cut through the sky and slashed at the ground before him. He jumped backward with a select choice of words at his lips when-

He saw a flash of light, and then smoke. The lightning had struck him.

And then it burned. Burned, burned, burned. His pack was burning, his apples caught fire, it burned.

He lifted up his hand, and it was green, and he tried to scream but instead came out a low, growling moan.

He took a step, stiffly, slowly. He could barely move. His clothes were tattered. Another slow, stiff, step.

For some reason he had an odd craving for human flesh. What was wrong with him?

He moaned again.

His pack, his food, all gone. All he had left was his iron sword and bucket, and he could feel them melting in his hands. Another moan, a stiff step.

Steve was no more.

And that, kids, is how the zombie was created.

And also why, kids, sometimes they drop an iron ingot. When they do, give them a moment of silence; they may have been Steve.


End file.
